


Growing Pains

by Candy_A



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Series: New Beginnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair continue to deal with the fall out of Blair's decision about his dissertation.<br/>This story is a sequel to Winds of Change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Mild angst, h/c, a little language and some m/m 

## Growing Pains

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Author's disclaimer: Pet Fly & UPN own the guys and The Sentinel. No money being made. 

* * *

Growing Pains  
by Candy Apple 

"Like I said, Jim, this whole operation should be routine, and--" Simon stopped mid-sentence as he noticed he'd lost Jim's attention complete. The cop sitting in the chair across from his desk had his head almost visibly cocked, the way Simon recalled his favorite childhood pet dog used to do. "Jim?" 

"Sorry. Sandburg's here," he explained calmly, as if hearing his partner when he wasn't even visible out in the bullpen yet was the most ordinary thing in the world. 

As Simon opened his mouth to continue, he was cut off again as the door to his office flew open and a blue hurricane ripped through the office until it slammed into Jim, who had stood to receive the whirlwind in the grey dress pants and dark blue dress shirt. 

"They gave me an extension!!" Blair shouted, hugging the larger man with no regard for the fact he was dislocating most of the vertebra in Jim's neck. Sparing himself the unnatural angle, Jim hoisted Blair off his feet briefly and squeezed back before releasing him. Blair stepped back, positively radiating joy. 

"I don't understand, Chief. I thought...I mean, the dissertation--" 

" _That_ dissertation, yeah, but--oh, sorry. Hi, Simon," Blair said quickly. Before the other man could answer, he turned back to Jim. "But the one I'm going to do about victim advocacy in U.S. police departments is a go! I have to define the subject, and turn in a basic outline of my project in a couple weeks, but they're gonna let me stay on!" 

"Victim advocacy? Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, Sandburg. What are you talking about?" Simon interjected, as if the nagging voice in his head had just informed him that this would somehow not only impact him, but would probably make his life considerably more difficult. 

"I thought you were gonna ask Simon--" 

"We didn't get that far yet." 

"Oh..." Blair bit his lip and looked at Simon, and then back at Jim. "I kind of interrupted something, didn't I?" 

"Actually--" 

"This was more important," Jim responded, smiling down at his lover, seeming not to have heard Simon's aborted reply. "What about the fellowship?" 

"Well, uh, that's a different story." Blair's face fell almost visibly. "See, I'm so far beyond any deadlines to even turn in something written, and this means an indefinite period of new research...and they feel my aborting the other dissertation is my own fault and I think the word 'irresponsible' came up..." Blair trailed off, suddenly interested in the third button down on Jim's shirt. 

"You lost the fellowship?" Jim asked gently, resting his hands on Blair's shoulders. The other man just nodded. 

"It's not the money so much...it's the...teaching." 

"They won't let you teach?" Simon interjected again, his tone shocked. Blair was a natural born teacher. 

"I was a _teaching_ fellow, Simon. If I don't have the 'fellow' part, I don't have a teaching job either." Blair shrugged. "But at least they didn't toss me out of the doctoral program." 

"This isn't fair, Chief." Jim started pacing. 

"Do one of you want to tell me what the hell this is about?" Simon demanded. 

"It's about Blair burning his dissertation," Jim responded. "To protect me," he added quietly, looking at his lover, who now sat slumped in one of Simon's chairs. Blair was a living dichotomy of joy and misery, having avoided one negative outcome and succumbed to the other. 

"You're not studying Jim anymore?" Simon asked Blair, who just shook his head. "Wow." Simon leaned back in his desk chair. "So what's this 'victim advocacy' thing you're going to do instead?" 

Blair looked up at Jim before answering, and Jim rescued him. 

"The Cascade PD doesn't have a Victim Advocacy Unit. A lot of the major departments are adding them, and it's something we need to take a look at anyway. So I was thinking...who better to work on developing a plan for that than someone who studies people, speaks a number of languages and understands a little something about almost every culture he'd come in contact with here?" 

"Were you going to run this by me, or the chief, or just get started on it on your own?" Simon asked, his sarcasm obvious. 

"Jim was going to talk to you this morning. But I was so anxious to tell him how the meeting with the committee went that I didn't even think about interrupting." 

"With the budget the way it is, I don't see the chief agreeing to something like this right now," Simon responded. 

"I'm already getting a stipend as a consultant. What if it didn't cost anymore than that for me to work on it?" 

"Hold it, Chief. That's practically the same thing as slave labor, and you aren't going to do that. You don't have to." 

"I want this to work, Jim." 

"So do I. But not with you working for nothing. This is going to use your skills and your degree and your connections. Unless you're going to get paid what we'd pay a stranger we hired off the streets, then it's not going to happen." 

"I do have some say in this," Blair protested, not liking Jim laying down the law quite so finally. 

"Time out, you two," Simon spoke up. "If you're going to have your first big lovers' quarrel, do it at home. As far as this idea is concerned, we have to pitch it to the chief. Or, rather, I should pitch it to a few more people among the upper brass, and when I've got some support for it, we take it to the chief." 

"You'd do that?" Blair asked, sitting up straight in his chair. 

"Aside from the personal purpose this would serve, I think you're right, Jim, that we do need to address this idea. Our services to crime victims are at best, adequate, and at worst, pathetic. In this case, we have someone who would have professional credentials to coordinate the effort, and who also has work experience within the department." Simon nodded. "I think it has a lot of possibilities. Just keep quiet about it a while and let me do some networking." 

"This isn't going to be something that ends up going to someone hired from outside, is it?" Jim asked, picturing in his mind Blair's whole project being handed to some outside applicant who was the chief's ditzy niece or some other act of gross nepotism. 

"There aren't a lot of guarantees, but I would do my best to pitch the idea and Sandburg as a package. I don't want some air-headed social worker coming in here and giving us all sensitivity training either." 

"Well, actually, Simon--" Blair was cut off by a hand that moved over his mouth but only lightly touched it. Jim kissed the top of his head. 

"Put a sock in it, Chief. Quit while you're ahead." The hand moved away from Blair's face, never having pressed hard enough to prevent Blair from speaking if he'd wanted to continue. Blair smiled a little nervously. If in fact this plan worked, seminars for the cops would be one of the primary components Blair would want to see become mandatory. 

"If I could possibly infringe on you to finish up this meeting, Jim?" Simon looked up at his star detective, who jerked his eyes away from his lover's to look at his boss. 

"Right, Simon." He took the chair next to Blair's, and after they caught the younger man up to speed about the new homicide case Jim was being assigned, they resumed the meeting that had been in progress when Blair burst into the office. 

* * *

Jim thrust into the tight, hot, moist depths of his lover as Blair opened himself there on his elbows and knees in the middle of the mattress. 

"Oh, yeah, like that," Blair groaned, thrusting back against Jim to double the impact of his lover's cock against his prostate. "Oh yeah..." Blair groaned, then let out a little cry as Jim reached under him and pulled him back so he was sitting on Jim's thighs, his legs straddling the other man's lap. A large hand enclosed Blair's throbbing shaft and began pumping in rhythm with their sex. 

"You're so tight, baby...so good," Jim growled in Blair's ear, then nipped at the lobe. "Love you," he whispered. His mouth moved down further and clamped on Blair's neck, sucking hard on the soft skin. 

"Love me hard, lover...make me...scream for you," Blair managed, his head thrown back against Jim's shoulder, damp curls sticking to his lover's skin as Blair rode Jim's cock insatiably, starting a pattern of moans and whimpers as the stimulation to his prostate reached an almost unbearable level. 

"Ride me, baby, that's it," Jim ground out, a slave to the rapid rhythm of Blair's hips as the younger man writhed on his lap, his movements becoming faster and harsher as he reached his climax. He let out a wild cry of pleasure as he stiffened against Jim and came explosively, Jim's hand milking him while his frantic passage spasmed around its impaler. 

"Oh, Blair..." Jim panted, picking up his pace a bit and finishing with a couple of broken groans, filling Blair. He wrapped strong arms around his lover's body and held him tightly, burying his face in sweaty dark curls. "Love you, baby." 

"Love you too," Blair sighed, not attempting to move out the of the tight circle of Jim's arms. They remained joined there, Jim wrapped around Blair, kissing and licking at the side of his throat, rubbing his face against Blair's hair and his cheek. He breathed in the scent deeply and let it obliterate everything else for just one glowing moment before dialing it down and taking control of himself. 

"We never tried it this way before. Was it okay?" Jim whispered against Blair's ear. 

"Okay?" Blair said, almost laughing. "It was...amazing. But you know what I like best--promise not to laugh?" 

"Never, sweetheart." Jim squeezed tighter. 

"This part. You all wrapped around me." 

"You already know how precious you are to me, right?" Jim sighed. "It feels so good to just hold you and feel you breathe, hear your heartbeat." Jim nuzzled Blair's neck. "You want to take a shower?" 

"In a little while. Right now, I just want to stay like this. Nothing else exists outside this room right now...outside your arms. I wanna keep it that way a little while longer." 

"I'm sorry about the fellowship, sweetheart. I still think it sucks." 

"I've been dragging along with this sentinel project for eons now, and then to walk in and tell them that when I'm supposed to be turning in my first chapter, I'm changing topics altogether and have to start my research from scratch--I'm pretty relieved they're letting me stay on and letting me stay in the Anthro Department. I mean, they could have pushed me out and said I was proposing something that belonged in Psych or Soc or CJ." 

"I know how much it means to you to teach." 

"It's really hard to believe I won't be starting in the fall with new students." Blair held onto Jim's arms. "I really love teaching, man. It's so hard..." Blair trailed off and bit his lip. 

"Let it out, baby. It's okay." Jim kissed Blair's cheek and his temple, then rocked them a little. These were quiet tears, the only sounds the occasional intake of breath or little sniffle. 

"It hurts," Blair said softly. 

"I know, sweetheart. I know it does. I'm so sorry." 

"I mean," Blair hiccupped, "I understand...why they did it... I'm taking...so long...and there are new...students...and their budget...is limited..." 

"Stop trying to defend them, baby. It hurts and it sucks and it's okay for you to be angry and it's okay for you to cry or scream or throw things or whatever would make you feel better." Jim moved slowly and withdrew from his lover, maneuvering them on the bed until they sat there facing each other, wrapped completely around each other. 

"There were...students...who signed up...for classes...because I was...teaching them," Blair choked out. "What do I...tell them?" 

"That you changed your course of research for the diss, and you need more time to work on that project alone, without the added responsibility of a teaching courseload, and the department was kind enough to relieve you of that responsibility." Jim stroked the damp curls and patted Blair's back while he cried. 

"You say... _I_ obfuscate," Blair managed. 

"Takes one to know one, I guess." He was silent a few moments, just holding Blair close and regretting that he had been the reason for his lover's pain. "You've been through so much in the last couple months, Chief. There are probably a lot of confused feelings in there and this just touched it all off, huh?" Jim said gently. 

"How'd you know?" Blair pulled back to look at Jim, still sniffling, tears still leaking out of his eyes. 

"Sweetheart, you had a very close brush with death, and we had our whole relationship to fix up, and then we became lovers, and then you had the dissertation decision to make, and now this. Not to mention the whole situation with my dad, which went less that perfectly. You're entitled to be shaken up from all that." Jim brushed at the wetness on Blair's face. "Changes can hurt--that's why they call them growing pains." 

"I love you, y'know." Blair huddled back against Jim again, and the large arms enclosed him. 

"I love you too, baby. More than anything. I don't want you to worry or be afraid. Everything'll be okay. It's all up in the air right now, but this will all work out, I promise. And eventually, you're going to be teaching again, Chief. It's just going to take a little time. Try to think about it like a break from your regular schedule so you can get this new research off the ground." 

"I didn't want to start living off you. Your dad's gonna think he was right." 

"First, even if I paid every bill for both of us, you wouldn't be 'living off' me. We'd be getting through a rough time together. And who pays the bills in this household is none of my father's damn business." Jim squeezed Blair tighter and rocked a little. "Besides, Simon still hasn't done his fancy footwork to get you a real job at the PD. Don't write that off yet. If this works, you could be a salaried staff member there." 

"It just feels like...when I died, and then I came back, I couldn't have my old life back. Like I was too late coming back and they gave my slot to somebody else already. I know that doesn't make sense." 

"Sure it does. You're going through a lot of painful changes, sweetheart. They may actually end up being changes for the better, but they hurt now, I know." 

"We were a good change," Blair concluded, pulling back and smiling up at Jim. 

"The best, Chief." Jim returned the smile before capturing Blair's mouth in a passionate kiss. 

* * *

Blair sighed and wrote the check for the new tires on the Volvo. He had known the expense was inevitable, but that didn't make him any happier to part with the money at the moment. 

"Blair?" A voice came from behind him. He turned around, and was surprised to see Jim's father behind him, dressed in a golf shirt and shorts, with his wallet in hand, waiting behind Blair and the customer still ahead of him who was transacting the last of her business with the man behind the counter. 

"Hi, Bill. Good day for golf," Blair commented, smiling. 

"Yeah, I just finished eighteen holes with a couple friends at the club. Thought I might as well get some new tires on the old bucket." The "old bucket" was a three-year-old Cadillac Sedan DeVille, dark navy blue with what looked like an expensive custom top. 

"Nice car," Blair responded. 

"Thanks. How'd you know which one was mine?" 

"Well, the lady ahead of us is driving the blue Riviera, the red Corvette didn't strike me as your style, and the green one's mine." 

"The Volvo?" 

"Yeah." 

"1968 isn't it?" At Blair's surprised expression, Bill explained, "I used to always have a classic car--it was a hobby for a while. That's a nice one. Looks like you keep it up very well." 

"Yeah, it's my baby. Even if it's more trouble than it's worth," Blair admitted, laughing a little. "I had a '62 Corvair before this one, but it was totaled." 

"Ouch," the older man winced. "Those cars are real collectibles now." 

"Tell me about it." 

"Do you and Jim have any special plans for today?" Bill asked. Blair wasn't sure if this was just polite conversation or if there was an impending invitation in the question. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday, and he had thought of getting their stuff together before Jim got home so they could drive up to the cabin. 

"Jim's at work. He ought to be home later this afternoon, so we'll probably do _something_ , but I don't know what yet." 

"If you're not busy later, would you like to have dinner at the house? Sally could make us something special--maybe Jimmy's favorite." 

"Which is?" Blair asked, smiling. 

"Sally's meatloaf. He used to consume it by the pound, especially when he was a teenager. She finally made one meatloaf just for him." 

"Sounds great. If Jim's free, we can give you a call and let you know for sure?" 

"No problem. I'm going to be home this afternoon anyway." 

Just then, it was Blair's turn to pay for his new tires, and as he left, he spoke one more time to Jim's father. 

"We'll get a hold of you in a couple hours and let you know, okay?" 

"Great. I hope you can both make it." The elder Ellison smiled a little. 

"Me too," Blair said sincerely, pleased with the invitation and hopeful that Jim would feel the same way. 

* * *

Late that afternoon, the two men arrived at the Ellison household, both dressed casually but neatly. Blair's hair was tied back loosely, and he wore a deep blue short sleeved shirt with a pair of good jeans. Jim had grudgingly parted with the suit he'd originally pulled out and worn a lighter blue shirt with a pair of tan pants. Blair had insisted that the get together would be informal, and when Bill Ellison opened the door to greet his guests wearing a golf shirt and a pair of blue pants, looking relaxed and casual himself, Jim had to concede that Blair was right. 

"Sally's set up some hors d'eourves in the living room for us. What would you like to drink? I have beer, club soda, soft drinks--" 

"Beer sounds good," Jim replied. Blair nodded his agreement. With that, his father retreated behind a bar at the far end of the room and produced three bottles of beer. 

The three men sat in the living room, snacking on the finger foods Sally had left out for them, making polite small talk. It was just the kind of get together Jim loathed. Blair had done an excellent job so far of not allowing long gaps in the conversation, both questioning Jim's father about his travels in Europe and sharing a few anecdotes of his own. When the subject of what exactly Blair did at the University came up, there was an uneasy silence until Blair decided to forge ahead with the truth. 

"The reason I got together with Jim in the first place was because I was doing my doctoral dissertation on sen--on people who had the same kind of special sensory abilities that Jim has. I was able to offer Jim some suggestions on channeling his abilities, and he was allowing me to use him as a research subject." 

"So you aren't observing the workings of the police department?" Bill clarified. 

"No--well, at least not as the subject of my dissertation, anyway. I'm telling you this because I know you have Jim's best interests at heart and it's safe to discuss this openly." 

"You don't need to worry that he'll take out any ads," Jim added, a trace of old bitterness in his voice. 

"I didn't want you to end up as some kind of..." 

"Freak?" Jim supplied. 

"I was thinking more along the lines of a lab rat. I don't think any of us in this room believe our government is above secret testing, using people with special abilities for their own purposes." 

"Those are the concerns that I had, so I...abandoned that research project." 

"What he means is he burned his dissertation and gave up his fellowship to protect me," Jim added, determined Blair wasn't going to downplay the magnitude of what he'd done. 

"Why would changing your dissertation subject mean giving up your teaching fellowship? Aren't you still planning on something related to your field?" 

"Well, I had to come up with some explanation for dropping this project, so I told them I felt I was too personally involved with my subject and that I'd lost my professional objectivity." Blair sighed. "They viewed that as a major slip in my professional conduct, not to mention the fact that I was to the stage of handing in written chapters for review. So starting over is, like, _years_ of additional work. All things being equal, they were willing to let me stay on in the department as a grad student, but without supporting my work." 

"That's ridiculous," Bill opined, shaking his head. "Is it more professional to continue working with a subject when you're not objective?" 

"It's professional to maintain your objectivity," Blair responded. "Anything other than that...well, yeah, it's better to admit it when your research is going to come out flawed or skewed in some way, but getting yourself into that position is, well, frowned upon, to put it mildly. Their contention is that I'm obviously not at a level of maturity in my profession where I need to be if I got this far in my research and just now realized that I screwed up." 

"You didn't say they said that," Jim interjected, frowning. 

"Well, I didn't feel like rehashing the complete tongue-lashing." 

"Dammit, Blair, this isn't right. Let me go in with you and straighten it out," Jim protested, seeming to forget there was anyone else in the room. 

"NO. I made my decision, and it's final. I knew it was going to be a mess professionally, and it'll just take some time for the dust to settle." Blair took a drink of his beer. "Could we change the subject, guys?" he asked with a slightly uneasy smile. 

"Don't you worry. I'll take care of this." Bill was on his feet and striding toward the telephone on one of the end tables. He picked up an address book that was sitting next to it and flipped through the pages. When he found what he was looking for, he tossed it down and picked up the phone, punching out a number. "Richard Fuller--he's on the Board of Regents--is a good friend of mine. We'll get this situation taken care of right now." 

"No. Bill, please, don't do that," Blair spoke up immediately. The other man hung up the phone and stared at him, puzzled. "Look, I really, really appreciate that you would make a call on my behalf--I mean that. But I don't want someone pulling strings for me." 

"You're protecting my son. You've sacrificed years of work to protect Jim. It isn't fair for you to be punished for that now." 

"And it isn't exactly fair for me to get my fellowship back because I have a connection to someone on the Board of Regents. When you strip away all the personal issues from this, they're not really in the wrong here. While personal involvement isn't the real reason I abandoned the project, it should have been. A long time ago. I haven't been objective about Jim for a long time. I've lived with him, interacted with him, and fallen in love with him. I was wrong to keep pursuing my research with him as a subject anyway. I don't know as it's exactly just and fair for me to expect Rainier to pay me for several more years while I correct a screw up that I should have spotted years ago, when I first had feelings for Jim beyond a researcher-subject relationship." 

"You would have never called it quits if you weren't worried about me," Jim said, shaking his head. 

"You're probably right. And what does that say about me, I wonder? I was going to go ahead and turn in a dissertation based on data gathered from someone I was in love with that I ended up marrying. Sometimes I wonder where the hell my head was this long. I wanted the best of both worlds. I wanted Jim and I wanted the research. You don't get both--not and produce a valid, solid piece of research. I finally made the choice I should have made a long time ago." 

"So you're at peace with their decision?" Bill asked, finally returning to his seat on the couch. 

"I didn't say that. But I know they're on firm professional and ethical ground in making it, and I don't have any justifiable reason to question their decision. Which is why, as much as I appreciate the thought behind it, I can't let you try to pull strings and get me reinstated." 

"If I make those calls, Blair, you'll be fully reinstated by Monday morning." 

"I know." Blair took a deep breath and swallowed. "But it's time for that fellowship to go to another student who has his act together and is just starting out. I've had it for a long time now, and I don't deserve it any longer." 

"Excuse me, but dinner is served," Sally announced as she stepped into the living room doorway. 

"Smells fabulous, Sally," Jim responded, trying to ignore the fact he had a lead weight in his stomach over Blair's whole professional situation. Hearing how negative Blair's feelings were about his conduct had polished off the last of Jim's appetite. Every day it seemed he learned how many layers there were to this turbulent period of change for his lover. And every day, it seemed to be a bit bleaker. 

"I've heard all about Sally's meatloaf," Blair said, smiling at the older woman and rising from his chair. "Now I finally get to taste it." Blair had recovered with his usual social grace, and led the way to the dining room as he worked at getting to know Sally a bit better. 

Once dinner was served, Sally excused herself despite both Jim's and Blair's pleas for her to join them, explaining that she played bridge on Saturday evenings with a group of friends. 

The meal progressed with some lighter small talk, which seemed a relief to Blair, who had spent enough time hashing over his somewhat battered academic career. It seemed that Jim and his father were making a few more attempts to communicate--or more notably, Jim had progressed past answering his father with sharp comebacks or monosyllabic grunts. 

After making a reasonable dent in the food Sally had spread out for them, they cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Blair had simply started cleaning up when they finished, so whether Bill Ellison was used to helping out his maid or not, he did so that evening, leaving the kitchen in fairly good shape, with the dishwasher humming merrily with the dinner dishes inside. 

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me how nasty things got with your committee, Chief?" Jim asked as he slid into his side of the bed. Blair was propped up on his side of the big bed, staring at a book moreso than reading it. Jim plucked it from unresisting hands and held his hand out, where Blair placed his glasses. Jim set the two items carefully on the nightstand and moved to settle Blair against his chest. When they were both comfortable, Blair let out a long sigh. 

"I was kind of wrung out." 

"You seemed so... _up_ when you showed up at the PD." 

"I'd spent the whole drive over there psyching myself up about all the reasons this was a good outcome. They didn't throw me out of the grad program, they accepted the victims' advocate idea...it could have been worse." Blair closed his eyes and relaxed against Jim. "I didn't want you to feel any guiltier about this than you already do, because the truth is, it isn't your fault. And everything I said earlier is true. I wasn't objective about you from way back...well, from about a half hour after we met. I liked you." 

"I treated you like crap when we first met." 

"You were abrupt." 

"Abrupt? I threw you against the wall." 

"Well, yeah, there was that." Blair chortled a little. "You were freaking out, Jim. People have blown their heads off--or someone else's off--for lesser upheavals. I understood that." 

"Is it wrong to _like_ your subject?" 

"Well, not exactly. I mean, there's nothing wrong with getting along with or interacting with subjects. But when you can't observe them as a subject anymore...when you love them more than you love your research...there's just a line you shouldn't cross, and I jumped over it years ago." 

"So part of why you felt so bad last night was because you'd gotten raked over the coals pretty well? You talk about me holding things back from you... I just wish I'd known." 

"It's over, Jim. I need to put it behind me and move on. If things go well with the victim's advocate project...that'll make it all worthwhile. I really believe in that. It's needed and valuable. Not a dusty concept that'll end up on the bottom shelf of a library archive." 

"I never thought your research was useless, baby. I know I said some lousy things to you about it when we were...before everything...but I never thought it was useless." 

"That's good to hear," Blair responded. 

"I'm sorry about my dad and his quick-fix solutions." 

"Actually, I'm not. Your dad offered to call up some big shot friend of his he probably golfs with at the club to defend his son's lover from getting what he thought was a raw deal. Jim, I might not agree with what he was suggesting, but the fact he _suggested it_ is like, a major step in the right direction." 

"But you don't want that kind of help." 

"No, I don't. But don't you get it?" Blair raised upon an elbow and looked into Jim's eyes. "He made me the kind of offer he'd make to family. I think your dad values his reputation, and his social status. And he was offering to use both those things to pull some strings for me. He's _trying_ , Jim. That was his way of trying to do something good for me, for both of us. If he thought I was repulsive, or our relationship was completely gross and he couldn't deal with it, he wouldn't be having us over for dinner and offering to call his big shot friends to help me out." 

"I don't know how you see him in such a good light." 

"Jim, you've got to start evaluating your father by his motives, not by what he ends up doing. We don't value the same things, or play by the same rules, as the social jet set or the wealthy upper class. You don't believe in the priorities your father tried to jam down your throat. That's wonderful. But those priorities are still part of who he is, even if he has gotten smart in the last little while about what's really important. So to him, it's a very big favor and show of familial support to offer to 'make a call' and straighten things out for me." 

"You think I'm too hard on him?" 

"I think he hurt you very deeply," Blair said softly, running the backs of his fingers lightly along Jim's cheek and jawline. "And that's hard for me to get past. And I know that when you see him and talk to him, it's a painful reminder of all the...well, the _pain_ from your childhood. You look at him and see the man who called you a freak and withheld his love and support when you needed it the most. If you want to turn your back on him for good, you know I'll be behind you. But I see him wanting so badly to make amends, and I see something in you that wants that too." 

"Maybe I have to just see them as separate people--what he was then and what he is now." 

"Or maybe you need to tell him what's still there that you can't move past. Maybe he can help. Maybe you need to talk it out with him." 

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" Jim asked, pulling Blair's face down to his for a prolonged kiss. "More than anything." 

"I love you too. I can deal with anything as long as I have you." 

"Ditto, Chief." 

"Sleep?" 

"Would you think we were an old boring married couple if I said that sounded good?" 

"No, I'd be relieved." Blair laughed a little. "I'm wiped." He flopped back down in Jim's arms with a contented yawn. 

* * *

Several days passed as Jim and Blair returned to their regular routine at the PD, and Blair struggled to keep his mind off the fact that the fall semester was starting at Rainier. Technically, he was still on the rolls as a student, but he wasn't taking classes anymore, and now he wasn't allowed to teach them either. For the first time since he was five years old, the coming of Fall didn't mean anything more to Blair than a drop in temperatures and the changing colors of the trees. 

Blair had never met Chief Warren face to face before, so when Simon walked into the bullpen with a tall, distinguished-looking older man with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses that matched, dressed in a business suit, Blair assumed it was a city councilman or some other visiting big shot. 

"Sandburg," Simon said, approaching the desk where Blair was typing up a report. Jim was visiting a friend down in Vice to share some information on a case, and had left his partner on his own to sift through some paperwork. "This is Chief Warren. Chief Warren, Blair Sandburg." 

Blair rose as the older man extended hand and shook it, smiling slightly. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," he said, hoping good manners would make the right impression on this man who probably held the key to the future of the victim advocacy project. 

"Captain Banks tells me you're interested in developing a plan for a victim advocacy unit here at the Cascade PD." 

"Yes, sir, I am. As a matter of fact, I've been outlining a few rough ideas already. I feel it's a service that's badly needed here--well, at any police department that doesn't already have one in place." 

"I see. I have to say that it _is_ an interesting concept, and one I've been looking into over the past year or so. Budget cuts have put a freeze on the development of new programs, but I would certainly be interested to hear your thoughts on it." 

"Why don't we use my office?" Simon suggested, leading the way back to his office and stepping aside for the other two to enter. 

Blair was just as glad when they were all seated around Simon's conference table. Between Simon and Chief Warren, who was Simon's equal in height, and their combined ranks at the PD, he felt like he'd wandered alone into the valley of the giants. //Why did Jim pick this exact moment to go down to Vice and catch up on old times with his former co-workers?// 

"Why do you think we need a victim advocacy program here, Mr. Sandburg? You've been an observer in this department for quite some time now." 

"Actually, sir, I think any police department needs to have a fully developed plan for victim assistance. It goes without saying that having a live human being on call to literally or figuratively hold a crime victim's hand in going through some of the official procedures or hospital examinations is a lot more effective than having an officer present for evidence gathering, and handing them a phone number for a crisis hotline. In the absence of a better program, that's something, but it isn't much to offer by way of service to the public. Aside from that, I see the 'victim advocacy' unit as being support for victims who may or may not still be alive. Take for example a murder case where the only witness won't cooperate with the police because of language barriers or perhaps because of some cultural principle that discourages dealing with the police. It would be quite helpful to pick up the phone and call someone who could either intervene themselves, and work with the witness and translate or reassure them--or who could reach another person with that capability who would be responsive to the request for help." 

"Those are all very promising ideas, but you're talking about a fairly significant staff." 

"Not really. I'm talking about one full-time coordinator, maybe a clerical support position, and a network of trained volunteers, which hopefully would include some people from the community with the expertise needed. Obviously, we don't need someone here who speaks fluent German or who understands Native American culture every single day of the week. But these are the kinds of people I would like to have in our network of volunteers from the community. People we could call on, who would have gone through a training program to help them better relate to crime victims and who could use their expertise to help us put cases together, assist victims, apprehend perpetrators--I see it as a very vital part of making the whole PD more efficient." 

"So your primary expenses would be for training programs, salaries for the coordinator and at least a part-time secretary, and various administrative costs associated with volunteer programs?" 

"And some training for the PD personnel as well," Blair ventured, feeling Simon's glare, though he didn't look away from Chief Warren to verify it. Jim had been right way back when about the thin blue line speech and its effect on Simon. Blair wondered if he'd just blown the whole thing with Warren by mentioning the idea of training the cops. 

"Actually, that might fit in rather well with the source used for the funding of the program. I was thinking we could tap the professional development budget, which has been left fairly untouched. Ideally, those funds are used for in-house seminars, training programs and so on. I find very little enthusiasm among the administration for those projects," he concluded, shooting a knowing look at Simon, who let out an uneasy little laugh and shifted in his chair. "Therefore, we do have a considerable amount of funding available from that source. I don't believe, however, it's sufficient to hire someone full-time to coordinate the program, and I would hesitate to take on the expense of even a part-time clerical at competitive wages." 

"What if the coordinator's position was a part-time one? And what if I could get a secretary for say, $7.00 an hour, 20 hours per week?" 

"I'd say you were a miracle worker," he responded, chuckling a little. 

"Student employees at Rainier University are paid less than that hourly. If I could work something out with the Social Work or Criminal Justice Department at the University to consider this field work, it could function like an internship for a student in one of those departments. If we did that, I might be able to get a student who was, say, a junior, already better than halfway to being a college grad, to function more like an assistant than just a receptionist. Or, there's always the possibility of a grad student--if we did this in partnership with the University, the options are...numerous to say the least. We could get a student who would love to make that much per hour in a job other than working a cash register or flipping burgers. I've worked with some of these kids--they're bright, responsible, quick on the computer and very much able to handle incoming calls. Or, we could set up an internship or field work situation for a grad student, which probably wouldn't mean a whole lot more in terms of salary, but you'd have a college grad working for very small wages in return for college credit or fulfilling a fieldwork requirement. Or maybe even someone who's doing research on something related to the criminal justice system." 

"What's in all this for you?" 

"I want to be the coordinator," Blair answered simply. 

"I gathered that," Warren replied, smiling. "I meant, why do you want to do that?" 

"I've been re-evaluating my research plans for my doctoral dissertation, and my initial plans were not...resulting in the type of data that would make for a strong paper. I have discussed it with my thesis committee, and they approved my changing my research to victim advocacy. So I would be getting a part-time job and the opportunity to gather data for my dissertation--anonymous data, of course." 

"You've been awfully quiet, Simon," Warren addressed the captain, who had been watching the exchange with interest, while secretly plotting his first opportunity to strangle Blair. Simon masked his true thoughts at the moment with a benevolent, and totally insincere smile. 

"Just assimilating all these ideas, sir." 

"Interesting ideas they are. Do you have some initial volunteers in mind?" he asked Blair. 

"I have plenty in mind, sir. To be honest, I haven't made contacts with them to secure their consent because I didn't know if the program would become a reality." 

"I have a meeting in fifteen minutes," Warren said, checking his watch. "I'll do some thinking on this, and a little further investigation into the funding options. I'll be getting back to you by the end of the week." He rose to leave, and the other men did as well. He reached out and shook hands with Blair again. "Thank you for your suggestions. I hope we're able to implement some of them." 

"So am I. Thank you, sir." Blair smiled as the other man left. When the door was closed, he looked back at Simon hesitantly. 

"Training seminars, huh?" Simon rose from his chair and let himself tower over Blair momentarily before moving toward his desk. 

"Simon, it's not like I'm asking anybody to dress up in a pink tutu and take ballet classes. I'm talking about a few brief seminars." 

"And I suppose you're going to teach these seminars?" 

"Maybe one or two of them, but probably not most of them." 

"Why not?" 

"I'm in the learning process on this myself. And I'm not a psychiatrist or social worker. I'd want someone licensed and qualified to give out advice on dealing with people in crisis. I might do one on relating to people of divergent cultures." 

"I can hardly wait. I thought you were talking about a department in the PD that would handle this stuff for us, not give us a bunch of encounter-group sessions so we could do it ourselves." 

"You heard Warren. Even the _coordinator_ can't be full time. Which means that a lot of the time, getting someone from the Victim Advocacy Unit is going to take time, because you'll be calling on people who may be off-site when you need them. Which means that the cops on the case still have to deal with the immediate contact, which might be the deciding experience for the victim or witness as to whether or not they cooperate." Just then, Jim tapped on the door and poked his head inside. It was all Blair could do not to run up and hug him and pull him into the office forcibly. He stayed where he was. The cavalry had arrived. 

"I ran into Warren in the hall--what's up?" he asked, closing Simon's door behind him and shocking the hell out of Blair by walking over to him and greeting him with a quick, close-mouthed kiss. "Hey, Chief," he greeted, as if he'd just patted him on the back instead of kissed his mouth. 

"Could you two put a lid on it until later?" Simon asked, still discombobulated at the turn Blair's suggestions were taking. And the fact that Warren liked it that way. 

"Sorry, sir," Jim said, not meaning it, and Simon knew it. The important thing to Jim was that Blair knew it, and the little smile on his lover's face was more than worth it. Blair's heart had been hammering and his breathing a bit shallow when Jim arrived. Now, he seemed to be relaxing again. The kiss had been effective if only as a distraction from the tension in the office and a little reassurance when it was needed. 

"Simon's pissed off at me because I suggested training for the cops around here to the chief, and he liked the idea." 

"That's kind of inevitable with a new system being implemented, isn't it?" Jim asked innocently, looking at Simon. 

"I suppose so," Simon sighed, relenting a little. "I guess after attending that conference last month in Seattle, then that 'training program' last week related to the gang violence prevention program... I'm a little down on seminars. Most of it's stale, canned information, re-packaged with a big price tag on it." 

"I promise I won't do anything boring," Blair said sincerely. For some reason, that made the other two men exchange glances and then just laugh, shaking their heads. No, Sandburg would never be accused of that particular offense. 

* * *

"Oh God..." Blair panted as he writhed above Jim, holding onto the railing. The other man's mouth skillfully pleasuring him, Blair closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensations. He was unpleasantly surprised when Jim pulled back and freed the stiffened organ. "Ji-Jim?" he managed, catching his breath. 

"You can think of a better place to put that, can't you?" Jim asked, grabbing the lube off the night stand and tossing it to Blair, who barely caught it in his aroused, less-than-coherent state. He stared at it, surprised. He had only topped one other time since their first time together. While that didn't really keep Blair up nights with worry, it _had_ made him wonder if he'd done something wrong or if he was ever going to get the chance to feel that hot, tight channel clamped around his cock again. 

"Really?" Blair met Jim's eyes. Loving hands stroked the tops of his thighs. 

"Really," he replied softly. "Want you, baby," he added, catching the hand that still held the tube, kissing the knuckles. 

Jim waited until Blair had moved down on the bed and then spread his legs, pulling his knees up to expose his center. He hadn't tried this position before, but he knew how much he loved it when Blair did it and was spread out before him, open and willing. 

"Come on, Chief, get me ready. You're gonna lose it if we wait too much longer," Jim said, knowing that Blair was steeling himself to put off satisfying the painful erection that bobbed in front of him while he would slowly work up to the act to ensure not hurting his lover. 

"I love you," Blair said breathily, squeezing the gel onto his fingers. Slowly and gently, he began to work at stretching the taut muscles, his fingers moving as if he had all night to get Jim ready. 

Jim let his eyes drift shut and concentrated on relaxing. Blair had been doing all the giving for weeks now, never demanding equal time. That made Jim want to give it to him freely. If he'd felt obligated somehow, or that it was necessary to placate Blair, he most likely would have never wanted to do it. But his partner never pressured him into anything, and was almost always responsive to Jim's touches, and receptive when he initiated sex that put Blair on the bottom. 

Three fingers were stretching now, and Jim managed to relax and let them do their work, knowing the sensation was a bit uncomfortable at this level, at least until one long finger grazed his prostate. He cried out with pleasure then, bearing down on Blair's fingers, trying to repeat the stimulation. His lover didn't disappoint, rubbing his finger back and forth over the magic nub. Soon, he had Jim writhing on the bed, emitting one long, continuous groan of pleasure. 

Blair carefully removed his fingers from the tight passage and coated himself, moving up so Jim's substantial legs rested on his shoulders. He slid into his lover's body in one long, smooth, slow stroke. Jim grunted a little under him, but the larger man's swollen erection showed no signs of not enjoying the activity. Blair grasped the straining cock and pumped it, smiling down at his lover. 

Jim was flushed, his eyes closed, hair ruffled up in all directions from their playful wrestling and making out on the bed before they got down to business. His chest was heaving slightly, his expression one of relaxed abandon and building passion as Blair began slowly thrusting, keeping his strokes in tempo with the strokes he was giving Jim's cock. 

"Come on, baby, move...harder..." Jim thrust up to punctuate his point. Blair was in no condition to argue. He picked up the pace of his strokes, angling his body so his cock was nudging Jim's prostate with every move. The other man grabbed the bedclothes in large fists and let out several wild moans of pleasure, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he undulated in time with Blair. 

"Oooh...Jim...so good...you're so...hot...tight...feels so...good," Blair grunted between thrusts. Blair felt Jim's muscles flutter and then begin clamping down on him just as Jim's seed bathed his chest and belly and the hand that was pumping the large shaft. Jim's shout rang through the quiet loft, which had only been disturbed with their grunting and the sounds of flesh slapping satisfyingly together. Unable to hold back, Blair thrust harder and faster now, feeling his own orgasm ripping through him. He let out a long cry of Jim's name, and spilled his seed into his lover's body, finally slumping on top of Jim in a sweaty, panting heap. 

"Move, baby," Jim grunted. Blair realized in some part of his brain that by falling forward, he was trying to fold Jim in half. He moved up, withdrawing slowly, and Jim's legs moved off his shoulders. Blair crawled happily back into Jim's arms again, kissing and licking at the soft, damp skin of Jim's throat. 

"I love you so much," he whispered. "That was...breath-taking." 

"Love you too, sweetheart." Jim made the effort to kiss Blair's forehead, and it landed somewhere near his hairline. 

"Thank you," Blair murmured. 

"Go to sleep, baby," Jim responded softly, hearing the fatigue in his lover's voice. Pulling up the covers and wrapping Blair in his arms, he angled his head to find the full lips this time, kissing them almost chastely. 

"I'm sticky," Blair protested sleepily, pulling himself up off Jim's body and staggering unhappily down the steps. 

Jim heard the water and some splashing sounds, and soon, Blair returned, clean, with a warm, wet cloth to return the favor. When both of them were clean enough to suit them, Blair crawled back into bed, shivering a little after having darted around the loft naked. Jim wrapped him tightly in large, warm arms. 

"C-cold," Blair stammered, latching onto Jim tightly and burying his face in the curve of Jim's neck. Even Blair's nose was cold. 

"Next time, I get up." 

"You _always_ get up. No. I wanted to take care of you." Blair looked up and smiled softly. "I love you, y'know." 

"I think you mentioned that, sweetheart. I love you too, remember?" Jim tucked a sweaty curl behind Blair's ear. 

"Jim?" 

"What, baby?" 

"Did I hurt you?" 

"No. I still feel it, but I'm fine." 

"I'm glad," Blair said. Jim could almost hear the spring of tension letting loose, and Blair's whole body seemed to relax for sleep now. 

"I trust you, Chief. With my life. With anything I've got, including my body. You know that. I know you won't hurt me." 

"Don't ever leave me, Jim. Please." Blair's arms tightened painfully around Jim's middle and he felt a tremor pass through the smaller body. He tightened his own hold on Blair, rubbing his back. 

"I'd die before I'd leave you, baby. You know that." 

"Don't say that. I don't want to lose you, ever. Not at all." 

"What brought this on, sweetheart?" Jim asked carefully, kissing Blair's temple. 

"So much is changing...my whole life is...different. It's like I died and...I told you this before." 

"You said it felt like your place had been filled, like you couldn't have your old life back." 

"Yeah. It's scary, Jim. I feel like...like I surrendered something by dying for that few minutes...like my whole world turned upside down, and the only thing I still have to hold onto is the only thing I ever really cared about to begin with--you. If I lost you... It's just that everything's...changing...and I'm...I'm scared sometimes. About the future." 

"I know, baby. There've been a lot of upheavals. Starting over on anything is scary." 

"I miss my classes," Blair said quietly. "I miss my students." 

"Aw, God, Chief I wish I could give you that back. Turn back the clock and...fix things somehow so you still had that." 

"I'm excited about the victim advocacy program. I really am," Blair managed, his voice a little shaky. 

"But it's not teaching, is it, baby?" Jim prodded, stroking Blair's hair back again and kissing his cheek. 

"I feel so...cut off," Blair said, a hot tear escaping and rolling down to plop on Jim's chest. "I don't have any reason to go there anymore, and I don't see any of the students I used to teach..." 

"You're going to have that back one of these days, sweetheart. I promise you. You'll get your Ph.D., and you'll teach. Blair, listen to me, you don't have to take Rainier's shit. If this doesn't work out, we'll go wherever it takes for you to get a teaching job or a new fellowship or whatever you want. Just please don't feel so bad, baby. I just want to make your hurting stop. You don't deserve it. You didn't deserve any of it." 

"You'd do that for me?" Blair raised up a little and looked into Jim's eyes. 

"I'd die for you, Blair. How much more of a stretch would it be for me to relocate for you?" Jim asked, smiling a little as if the logic were so simple that Blair shouldn't have been surprised by it at all. 

"Let's see what Chief Warren comes up with first," Blair said, more determined now to work things out so Jim could stay where he wanted to be. 

"Yeah, please, sweetheart. I just want to see Simon sitting in a class you're teaching. Just once," Jim added, laughing. Blair joined him, slumping back against the firm chest, thinking that this new life might not be so grim after all. 

End of this round... Stay tuned... 


End file.
